


Until Next Time

by ToxicBabes



Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 19th Century, Angst, Cabin Fic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Hunting, Injury, Intimacy, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Romance, Tenderness, Top!Kapkan, bottom!glaz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:41:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28269285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToxicBabes/pseuds/ToxicBabes
Summary: A universe where Maxim is confronted by his solitude and Timur is conflicted between the pursuit of his artistic ambitions and being with the man he knows to be home.
Relationships: Maxim "Kapkan" Basuda/Timur "Glaz" Glazkov
Comments: 16
Kudos: 35





	1. Winter

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually an AU of an AU because I had played around with a Vintage AU for a while, lost inspiration for it but really wanted to write something with similar themes. There may be slight historical inaccuracies here, though I hadn't intended for this story to be accurate/true to reality so don't try to question the logistics of time and travel otherwise I'll implode. The dialogue in this story is a little whimsical, though I sorta intended to write it in this fashion as if it were some sappy period drama. And as this is a work of fiction, many aspects of it is dramatised for further impact, it's all for a bit of fun.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy this one :)

It was rare for Maxim to ride all the way to Arkhangelsk, but when he received a letter in a familiar scrawl asking him of a favour, his heart and soul had begged him to write back. He secured a light cart to his horse and set off in the early morning, following the dirt paths towards the city with a cigarette sandwiched at the corner of his lips. The harsh smoke kept him warm as the winter continued to storm and the days still remained short and cold. By the time he would get home, the sun would be just brushing the horizon. They would be lucky to avoid another snowstorm.

The city had grown busier since the last time he was here. The local village was enough to pick up any mail and visit the store for his usual goods- tobacco, alcohol, matches and perhaps some sugar if he had the money left over. There was a clothier who often paid generously for the furs and skins he acquired in his hunts, but other than that, Maxim was fairly self reliant for many things and he was distant from urban life. 

Years ago he built a cabin far out from the city, nestled comfortably within the taiga amongst tall pines. It was a good ride away from a long stretch of tundra which eventually led to the coast. Not far from his property was a river, providing him with access to fresh water and fish. The forest itself was home to a number of different animals, some dangerous and others good for eating. 

Life was not too different from when he had to work, still filled with similar hardships of unhappiness and never having quite enough food in his belly, though the newfound freedoms brought him a sense of peace. 

Timur Glazkov was a name he was always hopeful to come by, only found in postcards delivered months too late, wishing happy birthdays or telling Maxim about where he had been, what he had gotten up to. The man himself- Maxim hadn’t seen him in just over three years now. He swore that he wouldn’t track the time, but every thought had him briefly lamenting over the months passing by. 

With an opportunity presented to him now, Maxim had to take it. If he didn’t, the regret would consume him and he wouldn’t last through the winter knowing what he had missed. It was the reason why he was scanning the busy streets looking for Timur. The letter said when the train should arrive. 

It was almost possible to miss him amongst the dense snowfall. The cart came to a quick halt and Maxim stepped down to help him with his bags. There weren't many, just two small bags and one large case that rattled with its contents of painting utensils. He offered a hand to pull Timur up and the younger man accepted the help, extending a gloved hand which Maxim took with some surprise. 

Since they had last met, Timur had gone through quite the change. His clothes were of higher quality, the kind that would cost a pretty penny, albeit old and worn in. His presentation was much less shabby in comparison, an air of sophistication that was unfamiliar to Maxim and left him wondering what kind of circles Timur had been loitering in since he left for St Petersburg. 

The uneven roads only allowed them to go so fast and Maxim didn’t want to risk wrecking the wheels of the carriage, nor did he want to strain his old mare in the biting cold. At the steady pace, he felt Timur glancing towards him a couple times, quick and hesitant looks before he reached into his pocket, produced a cigarette and lit it hastily with a match. He offered a drag to Maxim who accepted it with a murmur of gratitude. The fine tobacco was an almost acceptable substitute for an embrace. 

When they had gotten away from the suffocation of all the noise in the city, it seemed there was finally space for their own thoughts in their heads. Timur looked down at the reins grasped in Maxim’s pale hands and a smile grew on his face. 

“I thought you’d be married by now. For some reason, in my dreams I always saw you married to a beautiful lady and she would bear you _half a dozen_ children,” he spoke with a soft chuckle, mist billowing from his mouth and nose as he exhaled. The thought that he dreamt of Maxim made the older man raise a brow and the contents of that dream amused him even more. “I don’t know if I should be glad the only thing that has changed is your scars.”

Over the past years, Maxim had not made any strides in attempting to court anyone else. In fact, there was no room in his heart for anyone other than Timur and over this time, Maxim swore he had more encounters with wildlife than human beings, some resulting in injury. 

“You think a woman can love this face?” Maxim asked, conscious of how the healed tissue was taut and tight as his lips pulled into a nasty grin. The scar was still pink in its infancy, intercepting his lip and cutting a stark line into his facial hair. The look on Timur’s face softened for him because he certainly loved Maxim regardless of how he looked. “And I thought you forgot about me.”

The accusation appeared to offend Timur and he made an expression of fierce objection at the idea he could last a day without wondering where Maxim would be in the wilderness, mind less an entire week. “I could say the same about you. You rarely reply to my letters,” he said, hiding the slight hurt behind a playful tone. “I send you all these postcards, those flowers, and I draw you things that remind me of you, yet you reply to me with barely a paragraph.”

The pressed flowers and watercolour scenery on thick card remained carefully preserved in Maxim’s drawer, kept away from the sunlight that would age the pigments. He looked at them often, especially so when his heart yearned for Timur. 

“I didn’t know what to write,” Maxim admitted, guilty about it now. However, he was being honest. There were only so many ways he could write that he was glad to hear Timur was going well, that he missed his company and would await the next letter to come. “You have your adventures, I just do the same thing everyday. Wake up, eat, hunt, sleep. I just write back to let you know I haven’t died to a bear or fallen into a frozen lake.”

Forgiving him, Timur just smiled and took in the clean air. The city made him miserable, he often wrote about it in his letters. The factories brought about a horrible smog, the social circles he frequented had introduced him to many dilemmas ranging from philosophical questions about his own life to what his art meant and what he wished to create, why he was creating. He missed the simpler days with Maxim when he didn’t worry as much and his ambitions were tame. 

He told Maxim what he had been doing since the paragraphs of details in his latest letter. The studies he did under various other artists, the different places he went with all the interesting people and their cultures, what was happening in other countries. Maxim enjoyed these conversations and the more they talked, he realised he would have not known any of this had it not been for Timur’s wanderlust. 

It only took the journey home for them to realise how much they missed one another. The conversation made Maxim forget about the way his fingers were numb and blue from the cold. He was far more entranced by the mere sight of Timur in person again. Snowfall clung to the beaver fur of his hat and rested on the hairs of his beard, the gentle curve of his eyelashes. 

He took several minutes getting his horse settled under shelter. It was a makeshift stable of some sorts he crafted during the autumn months several years ago. It would be disastrous to be stranded out here with no horse to ride to the closest town, so he made sure to give his mare a safe abode. His path left trenches within the dense snow and a dampness threatened to seep into the fabric of his trousers by the time he reached the short canopy over his door. As not to leave a puddle indoors, he stomped his boots a couple times before entering his home.

The warmth did not greet him and the walls only sheltered him from passing gusts. Timur was crouched by the tiny furnace. Unlike the old farmsteads Maxim used to work on, he had no grand stove that would provide the lofty space with heat. He relied on this contraption to survive through the tough winters, often squatted down beside it or bringing his bedding over in hopes it could stop the shivering.

Hands trembling, Timur fidgeted with his small box of matches before Maxim took them and lit the dry wood sitting inside the chamber. The fire illuminated the room and he was quick to coax the flame to grow bigger. He handed the box back, but this time Timur grasped his hand with both his own and held them, cradled them. Their eyes met then without second thought, he kissed the back of Maxim’s hands as if it were a blessing to have this contact. 

This tender gesture only fuelled Maxim’s existing desires. His other hand reached to touch Timur’s cheek, the pad of his thumb slid from the apex of the younger man’s cheekbone to the stretch of smooth skin behind his earlobe, just brushing his hair. The flesh was warm against his palm. He didn’t hesitate for a moment to capture Timur’s lips into a deep kiss, wishing to feel the heat of his body even more. 

It had been years since they even saw one another and Maxim feared he was beginning to forget him. The act of touching him, kissing him, loving him again had given him a decade’s worth of relief from this suffering. In turn, Timur grasped for him some more until they were embracing one another, bodies pressed against the hardwood floor with the warmth of the furnace distant and ghosting over frozen skin. Maxim pulled away and nuzzled his face against the collar of his shirt, taking in his scent before finding solace in the crook of his neck. 

Laying there, Timur let out a soft sigh of comfort and weaved his fingers through Maxim’s hair, finding it grew in much thicker now and the grey hairs were especially wiry. 

“I missed you,” he confessed, his voice small and weak because these affections left him with emotions too powerful for him to handle. “Every day, I thought of you. I felt crazy being so obsessed, but I love you, Maxim. I still do, I always will.” 

Maxim’s expression of knitted brows eased. He softened at the honesty and pulled him into a sitting position. “Your presence in my head was a curse and a blessing,” he joked in a gentle tone, skirting around the direct statement that he was still intensely invested in what they had back then. “The first thought every morning was ‘Has Timur Glazkov eaten breakfast yet? Where is he now? What is he doing?’ And I even read those damn books you left behind too. I just wanted any piece of you.”

And that smile on Timur’s face was something he dearly missed. “I didn’t _leave_ them behind. I gave them to you,” he corrected, pretending to chastise him. “They’re my favourites. Tell me you liked them.”

“Too romantic,” Maxim teased back, but in truth he did find that the novels occupied his attention on days where it was too treacherous to go outside. The hours he spent curled up by the burning furnace, flicking page after page in fervent race to the end and the strain of his eyes from making out the text under dim light. 

It took them until the early evening to unpack all of Timur’s things. He brought an expensive box camera under instructions to take various photographs of wildlife in the remote countryside. Even after all these years, he was still an apprentice. While the thought that he would have to leave again loomed on Maxim’s mind, he was comforted that Timur chose to carry out his studies here rather than some miserable farm in the middle of nowhere. Instead, he was here with Maxim in the middle of nowhere, a much better option. 

A biting draught slipped in between the cracks of the cabin. Maxim’s craftsmanship was not infallible despite the hours he had invested to create his home. However, their conversation had stretched long into the night that it was barely noticeable. They cooked a hearty dinner together, roasted thick venison steaks and enjoyed it with turnips and carrots cooked in the melted fats. Better to eat what would expire soon, a rule of survival because the winter was always brutal and the utilising all food was paramount. Nothing could go to waste.

Gentle candlelight illuminated the bedside, shrouding their little corner in a yellow glow. It was chillier on this side of the room, but Timur was insistent their body warmth would sustain them through the night. He sat on the edge of the bed, hunched over to receive the light as he wrote in a small journal. Maxim studied the sight of his back, the pale skin, lean muscles, and the protrusion of his spine. He reached a hand out and brushed the calloused pads of his fingers against the vertebrae to feel the warm flesh taut over hard bones and the physical sensation of touching Timur told him that this was real, not a fabrication of a lonely mind going mad in the winter.

“You’ve gotten thin,” Maxim commented and he listened to the scratch of graphite against thick paper, the rapid scribbles of Timur’s messy cursive across the page. “I hope you’ve been eating enough.”

“I get by,” Timur answered with a smile then closed his journal over and set it on top of the bedside cabinet. A playfulness overtook him and he planted himself atop of Maxim, enveloping him with his body. He clasped both hands on either side of Maxim’s head and looked into his eyes, studying the serene expression on the older man’s face. Peace, calmness, contentment. An almost surreal sight compared to his usual scowl and furrowed brows. 

In response to the curious look, Maxim brought his hands to slide along Timur’s waist, settling down at his hips and where he held him as Timur kissed along the length of his neck. After being deprived for so long, it didn’t take much for Maxim to respond with as much eagerness. Before he knew it, they had stripped themselves of their garments and were pressed against one another, goosebumps on their skin as hot hands roamed and familiarised themselves with the intimacy. 

As tempting as it was to make it out into a desperate skirmish for instant gratification and pleasure, they forced themselves to slow down. By the end of their lovemaking, they had been consumed by an emotional rawness, a kind of vulnerability they had not shown in years and Maxim held Timur close within his arms. Their skin was sticky with the scented oils they had used and the vial sat on the bedside table, the cork haphazardly replaced. 

In the morning, they could bathe down by the river, but for now Maxim did not want to move an inch. 

* * *

It was tempting to stay inside, to take time off from whatever needed to be done just to catch up again, but nature did not wait for Maxim and he had prepared the last of his venison for last night’s dinner. He hoped some traps could bring in something to cook if they did not manage to net a decent kill, so he left before sunrise to get them set. It would be preferable to wake up together, spend the morning holding one another and laughing about how great it felt to be together again, but daylight was so sparse in the winter that they could not afford to do so. 

In this season, hunting was always harder. Maxim was not foreign to this hardship and he knew feeding for two mouths would be a challenge. The problem weighed on his mind as he trudged home through the dense snow, mentally taking note of what he had pickled or salted over the autumn in preparation.The only thing he didn’t prepare for was the arrival of Timur Glazkov to disrupt him from his way of life. 

There was a lot to account for- an emotional investment he was unaware of, a result of agreeing to let Timur carry out his studies here. It was something he didn’t consider at all when he hastily wrote back. In hindsight, Maxim cursed himself for not thinking it through. This was going to break his heart and he wished he had braced himself for the impact of all of this. Regardless of the outcome, it was the law of the universe to say yes to the favour. Could he ever say no to Timur?

By the time Maxim returned to the cabin, Timur was awake and had gotten dressed. There was the scent of something cooking on the stove when Maxim toed off his boots by the door and he craned his neck to see what was going on, a look of amusement across his face.

“Made yourself at home, hm?” He noted as he rubbed his hands vigorously to restore heat into each of his frozen fingers. 

“I built it with you, of course it’s my home,” Timur answered back in a cheeky manner and he stirred the pot to make sure nothing was sticking to the bottom. It wasn’t anything fancy, just porridge, though he was generous with the butter.

“You’re not the one putting food on the table,” Maxim pointed out with the same tone, the same lighthearted jest that they were too familiar with. He accepted a bowl of the porridge with a murmur of gratitude and stirred it, mouth watering at the hearty aroma of buckwheat and milk.

Timur did not settle down but paced around with his bowl warming his palm. He paused to study the small artworks carefully hung on the wall, all of them made by him. One caught his eye, a wood carving which he had spent days chiselling and chipping away to produce a forest scenery, a gorgeous buck in the forefront of it all. It was something he did during the winter when he would dream of the coming spring, the nature that would bloom in the wake of the dark, desolate winters. The varnish held well over the years, still holding a lustre that accentuated the grain of the wood.

There were so many aspects of the cabin that preserved the memories they spent with one another and Timur appeared to be nostalgic as he continued to study his old portraits. He turned to look at Maxim, a sudden brightness in his eyes as a different thought crossed his mind.

“I thought you wrote that you got a dog at some point,” he pointed out in a playful manner, though really he was inquiring about it. 

An aloofness overcame Maxim and his expression twisted with awkwardness, a tinge of pain. “Yeah, I did,” he said with a nod, wondering how he could word this without coming across too directly, though the fate of his companion was not something easy to put lightly. “Alexsandr gave me him from the litter his bitch had a couple years back. Good dog. Got lost one night and I think the wolves got him.”

Noticing the slight glumness in his expression, Timur knew to ease off. “ _Oh,_ I’m sorry,” he murmured and his eye had caught onto an old basket sitting next to shelves, a thick blanket stuffed into it to provide as bedding. 

Maxim shook his head and dismissed the condolences offered. “That’s just nature,” he said then gave a forlorn smile. “Almost two years old actually, but not much bigger than a puppy. I couldn’t take him fishing with me because he’d bark too much and scare away the fish. Used to play with the chickens too, nip at them.” Then after a long pause, he added, “I wish you could’ve met him.”

The room became shrouded in a heavy silence, one that emanated with the kind of grief from missing an opportunity and for Maxim, he simply missed his dog. He didn’t mean to sour the mood and in attempt to remedy it, he addressed a thought that crept into his mind.

“We can go out on the horse later. You said you needed to take some photographs or something?” He offered, gesturing towards the cases Timur bought, all kinds of utensils and devices that Maxim had no idea about. The box camera was amongst this and the tiny thing was likely worth more than the plot of land he lived on. “While the sun is still up preferably.” 

Had he not reminded Timur, the younger man would not have gotten much work done by the time he had to leave. This wasn’t intended to be a vacation, he had specific work planned and set out to do. With that in mind, they set off in the early morning on the old mare and scouted out suitable locations to take some shots. 

Clutching the bulky case of the camera to his side, Timur snaked his other arm around Maxim’s torso and he held on tight as the horse cantered down the paths of the remote countryside. He missed the simplicity of riding together on horseback and wished he had a horse of his own, but this would do just fine and he nestled his face against the back of Maxim’s heavy coat, finding himself smiling in blissful joy. They passed by several large farms, rode through a quaint village before disembarking at the mouth of a small forest. 

The snowfall did not make the journey easy. Timur found himself out of breath by the time they made it to the lake he wanted to see and Maxim smiled fondly towards him. To give Timur some space, he took a few steps away and leaned under the shelter of a tree, back pressed against the bark of the trunk and he watched Timur set up the camera on a stand. It was tempting to smoke some tobacco, but Maxim feared the harsh scent would scare off any wilderness nearby, so he ignored his desires. 

The lighting was perfect at this time and Timur felt the pressures of knowing this would not last long. Winter was always temperamental and unkind, he ought to take the opportunity to shoot some scenic shots before it was too late. The technique he used was outdated compared to the latest technology of tiny cameras with film that could be sent off to be developed. Here he was, fumbling around to get the camera ready then disappearing under the darkness of a thick cloth to make more precise adjustments.

The case was filled with all kinds of bottles and tools, not just the camera itself and Maxim studied the contents as he waited. He wasn’t familiar with any of this and it only made him realise how little knowledge he had of anything in general. All he knew was how to hunt, to survive, and anything else was regarded to be irrelevant. Now that he thought about it and reflected upon how impressed he was at Timur’s skills and knowledge in his field of expertise in art, in literature- the general appreciation of life and its aesthetics- Maxim considered himself to be ignorant to the universe, despite having once thought he was truly immersed in the wilderness.

It didn’t take long for Timur to finish up and he gingerly packed the camera back into its case, explaining quietly to Maxim how other photographers in different parts of the world were developing new techniques to make the hobby more accessible. The briskness of the whole ordeal surprised Maxim. He was only familiar with having a family portrait taken as a child, how it took a gruelling amount of time for a boy who could barely sit still and only wanted to play outside. 

That memory was an amusing one, how his family could save their scarce expendable money to take a family portrait. All five of them, dressed in their best clothes. They were told to wear a neutral expression as it would take quite some time for the photograph to be taken. Luckily, the natural expression of any Basuda was to look unhappy. 

Whether this was just part of their blood or if it was a product of their hard lives, Maxim didn’t know. He didn’t recognise any difference between long days labouring on farms and the uncertainty of his every waking day, not knowing if he would be able to find food to eat or if this hunting trip would be his last. Being here with Timur though, Maxim could not mistaken this emotion to be anything other than happiness.

With some daylight to spare, Maxim opted to scout the surrounding area for any game. He spotted a decent-sized buck several days ago and he hoped it would still be nearby. They left the case safely with the horse and returned to the forest, one rifle between them. 

“Are you still a good shot, Glazkov?” Maxim asked under his breath, pausing to look over his shoulder. He crouched and produced a pair of binoculars, readied them so he could see through the dense tree line without compromising their position.

“The rich like to kill for entertainment, makes a _beggar_ like me valuable to them,” Timur answered with the same low tone, the corners of his lips curling upwards with a little pride. “Geese, bears, deer. They do it for sport. I get them a clean kill.” 

Taking his word, Maxim handed the rifle over and entertained himself with the thought of Timur Glazkov outshooting all the wealthy and possibly aristocratic men who were part of the circles that appreciated art. The idea that their pride would be hurt at the fact that such a youthful, handsome _and_ talented man could outcompete them and impress all the women spectating these acts of machismo. 

They must be curious about Timur, how he had travelled so vastly through the entire empire in what seemed like an aimless search to sate his creative desire- or that was how Maxim always saw it, this wanderlust that could never be quelled. He must be an elusive creature to them in the same way he still was an enigma to Maxim sometimes. Timur was someone who worked in mysterious ways and had too much good fortune. Most men like him would have starved to death by now or accepted that their fate was to live and die working hard labour. 

A clean shot fired off, carefully calculated after a daunting silence of holding their breaths. Their ears rang in the aftermath, blood thrumming in their veins with adrenaline from the sudden jolt and the sulphuric tinge of gunpowder stung their nostrils. Lowering the rifle, Timur looked towards Maxim to gauge his approval and was met with a stubbly kiss to his cheek, the kind that had his grin taking on a bashful energy as opposed to the haughtiness he once held. 

By the time they reached the carcass, Timur noted how dark it was already. He swore it wasn’t long ago that they made the decision to stay out a while longer, yet now he estimated it would be another half-hour before it would be completely pitch black. He helped Maxim skin and carve the buck, hoping to accelerate the process of butchering the meat so they would not be trapped in a snowstorm on the way home. 

With each slab of meat, Maxim wrapped them and put them in his satchel. His hands were mottled red from the blood, not holding a single tremble despite the cold temperatures. The buck wasn’t large by any means, but the meat they harvested could serve them for several meals. It was unfortunate they could not transport the rest of the remains home. They could have made broth from the bones, used the hide for warmth. Though nothing is ever lost in nature. This body would decay and other wildlife would find value in it eventually.

“Maxim,” Timur spoke in a soft tone and he stood still, eyes focused ahead of them. 

Maxim stopped cutting and raised his gaze to make out the silhouette of wolves amongst the trees. A decent pack, perhaps seven. “They won’t attack,” he assured Timur and put a little more force into severing tough sinews. The blade made quick work of the last cut of meat he managed to salvage. The longer they stayed, it seemed the wolves grew agitated, stalking closer with their ears held back. They wanted the corpse and Maxim was more than ready to give it up now. He rose to his feet and took slow steps backwards. “Let’s go.” 

The rifle rested against a tree several paces away. Their hands were sticky from the blood, fragrant with a metallic scent that only encouraged the wolves to continue their pursuit despite Maxim’s continued retreat. He tightened his grip on his blade, but his instincts were to dodge when the wolf lunged for him. The dense snow blanketed his fall, canines sunk into the flesh of his forearm and every shake threatened to tear through his tendons. 

It was hard to target the wolf in the struggle and panic overtook Timur. Maxim drove the blade into the rib of the animal repeatedly as he fed into the bite, fighting for power. A warning shot fired off at the rest of the pack and injured one, then Timur pulled the bolt back, ejected the empty cartridge and slammed the bolt back in. He raised the firearm and squeezed the trigger, the rifle aimed to take down the wolf. The rest of the pack had fled at the initial fire, or that was what they presumed given the sudden silence that eclipsed the woods.

“You’re bleeding bad.” Timur slung the rifle over his shoulder and knelt down by Maxim’s side. He inspected the wounds before rummaging in his bag for any fabric to tear and use as a tourniquet. The blood seeped into the torn sleeve of Maxim’s thick coat. “We need to get home, can you walk?”

The pain was immense. Every thought in Maxim’s head was no longer coherent. “I’ll be fine,” he managed to squeeze out between gritted teeth, but the second he was pulled to his feet, his head began to spin. He grasped onto Timur for support and they trudged towards the direction they came from, leaving red snow in their wake. 

A terrible, low baying reverberated through the trees and Timur knew this was not the harsh winds playing tricks on his mind. He gripped the rifle and readied it, turned to keep watch of their backs as Maxim continued to lead them. “There’s more, be careful,” Timur spoke and glanced towards him for a glimpse of a moment to make sure he was okay. 

Blade grasped in his non-dominant hand, Maxim could not shake off feelings of vulnerability. His injured arm throbbed and trembled, dripped with hot blood that soaked into his clothing. Heavy breaths billowed from his parted lips in thick mists and he could barely make out anything ahead of him through his blurred vision, the path scarcely lit by the moonlight. 

“On your left!”

A sudden movement in his peripheral vision forced him to leap out of the way. He landed on his injuries, drawing a hoarse cry in agony. 

Timur fired the rifle again and put down the wolf. The stopping power was enough to disable it but not enough to kill. It laid whimpering while its allies fled, having lost two of their pack. Any notion of being merciful had not passed Timur’s mind and he seized Maxim to his feet. They ran for the final stretch to where the horse had been tethered at the forest entrance and by then Maxim was sure he was going to lose consciousness. He drew laboured breaths, unable to keep himself upright, much less get himself straddled on the horse.

“Hey, stay with me. I need you, alright?” Timur patted his cheek, brows furrowing upwards at the worrying sight of Maxim’s pallid expression. “Tell me where to go, Maxim. Don’t leave me, okay? I’m gonna lift you up- here, three, two, one-”

Saddled up, Maxim wrapped an arm around Timur’s torso and held on tight. They bolted down the path in the direction of the small town, any visibility of what was ahead of them worsening as the light snowfall grew heavier. The hail lashed their bare faces and Timur strained to make out Maxim’s voice over the storm, but they eventually rode into the small town.

Not a single lamp glowed in the night and any living soul had retreated under the shelter of their homes. No one would heed to their cry for help and any attempt at finding a doctor at this time would be futile. The last kilometres home ran on and just when Timur began to think it was endless, he caught the turn in the path that would lead back to the cabin.

The shutters trembled against the force of the gales outside. The snow trailed in by their boots began to melt into the floorboards. Maxim attempted to pull his coat off but found his conscience waning quickly. He drew in a shuddering breath, hunched over and clutching his forearm. The tips of his fingers were blue, numbed to any sensation beyond pressure. 

Timur brought a pail of water and some spare cloth, some to use as gauze or bandages. He helped peel off his shirt and tossed the bloodsoaked garment aside before coaxing Maxim to lie down. As much as Timur did not want to hurt him, he needed to clean the injuries. The puncture wounds were deep where the wolf’s canines sunk in, oozing with dark blood that looked almost black under the illumination of candlelight. 

The sudden pain of icy water against Maxim’s arm tore him from the edge of passing out, but only into a horrific awareness of what had happened to his body. He let out a strained groan and resisted the urge to pull away, but every instinct in his body begged for him to make this stop. There was no use trying to stabilise his breaths. Any following instance where Timur would tighten the bandages sent Maxim into a state of agony, squeezing his eyes shut until tears squeezed out from the corners of his eyes.

By the time it was over, he was breathless and weak. He raised his gaze to find Timur standing by the stove where he poured heated water into a cup. He returned moments later and sat by Maxim’s bedside. The skin of Timur’s hands were marred red, the underside of each fingernail and every crease in his hands were caked with dried blood. He gently cooled the cup of steaming tea by blowing on it, making sure it would not scald Maxim.

“Here, drink,” Timur commanded in a soft tone and brought it to his lips. The bitter tinge hit Maxim’s tongue, but he swallowed it all down as much as his stomach wanted to reject it. An earthy aftertaste lingered in his mouth and his stomach stirred. “Tea made from the poppy seeds. It’ll take the pain away.” 

Within minutes, an otherworldly sensation had washed over him. A feeling of weightlessness, of transcendence almost and Timur was right. Some discomfort remained, but Maxim was no longer tormented by his injuries. He blinked up at his lover, eyelids heavy and his breaths slow, steady now. A palm cupped his cheek and Timur kissed his forehead before brushing back his hair from his face. 

It took several days for Maxim to regain his strength, but even then he was not strong enough to survive on his own. Timur’s train had come and gone, but he remained at the cabin and insisted there would be no issue if he stayed behind a while longer. 

“I can stay,” he told Maxim, though he had not considered the consequences of missing his train. The fare for another ticket, the rest of his work waiting on him, all his plans being uprooted. “I _want_ to stay.” 

Doubtful, Maxim took his word and tried not to question it. The worry of waiting for the younger man to come home from any daily duties always took precedence in his mind and he no longer mulled over what Timur was sacrificing to stay behind. Trips to get water, to fish, check on the traps. The rifle accompanied Timur wherever he went and despite that, Maxim always feared it wasn’t going to be enough.

He had a tendency of dismissing Timur’s abilities, taking him to be a soft man due to his interest in art. Despite that, Timur proved that he could take the reins when the situation called for. He still remembered how to set snare traps, didn’t make a mess trying to gut some trout, rode into town during harsh storms to get some medicinal salve for Maxim’s injuries. 

In the long evenings, they sat on the bed and Timur changed the dressings, cleansed Maxim with a nurturing touch, taking all the measures to ensure no infection could fester. He touched his cheek to Maxim’s forehead and kissed him tenderly, glad to know that he had no fever from the incident. 

Being completely dependent on someone else was an alien concept to Maxim and he grew frustrated at being rendered unable to do basic tasks by himself, but being cared for again reminded him of the old days and he considered maybe it wasn’t so bad that Timur stayed a bit longer.


	2. Spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the spring, they ride down to the coast and Timur reassures Maxim from the same, old worries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An intermediate chapter to continue building on the background of them, nothing too eventful and I hope you guys still enjoy it nonetheless.

Timur returned when the frost began to thaw. New leaves sprouted on the bony branches of the trees surrounding the cabin and the long grass teamed with newfound life, litters of rabbits burrowing behind the cabin, a new family of fox kits to terrorise the chickens. While Maxim never admitted it, the winter had been miserable alone when Timur had to leave. He wrote and sent prints of the photographs, pressed flowers, a self portrait on a sheet of thick card, though nothing was enough to soothe Maxim’s heartache, the desire to hold him in his arms. 

Truth was, he spent nights awake and horribly consumed by his loneliness, resorting to slipping on the shirt Timur left behind in blind hope it could provide some relief in mimicking the softness and comfort of Timur’s embrace. The fabric was soft and thin, finely woven and delicate. It had little use to Maxim, providing almost no warmth and he tried to breathe in any scent lingering on the fibres but found that only his imagination could save him.

Timur presented gifts of fine tobacco and alcohol, leaving Maxim flustered when they were resting in the cabin. Until now, they orbited around one another for a good while, unsure of these boundaries between them that were so vague and abstract. There had been an illusion that a distance had formed between them in their absence, but they came to learn that there had been no such a thing. These boundaries were a mere construction of their neuroticism and they needn’t worry. In time they would fall back in rhythm with one another.

This momentary bliss would last however long Timur intended to stay. It wasn’t going to be forever and the warmer it got, the more inclined he was to travel for whatever reason that was always beyond Maxim. For research, for inspiration, writing a book- or was it poems? He could never recall, but he only remembered the inadequacy that stirred in the deep dwellings of his chest. The troubling thought that Timur could never settle down anywhere and ultimately, that he could not be content living by Maxim’s side. 

Maxim was not one to be superstitious. He did not buy into ideas about fate and destiny, but times came where he wondered if the universe was doing everything within its power to separate them again and again no matter how desperately they could claw their way back to one another, whether that be sailing across the Atlantic Ocean or boarding a train to traverse the Russian Empire. 

For now, he tried to make the best of it. They went fishing together most days, finding immense satisfaction in sitting by the nearby stream with the wind blowing through their hair, reeling in fat trouts to roast later in the evening with herbs. This time around, Maxim joked that they would be good as dead if a bear could catch them in its paw and Timur prayed they would not have another deadly incursion with wildlife. 

Compared to the winter, they ate well and found their nights closing with bliss rather than huddling for warmth. The afternoon sunlight spilled through the open shutters of the cabin and a light breeze carried through while Timur painted and he took in the scent of something hearty bubbling on the stove. Maxim returned from tending to the chickens and his shirt clung to his lean muscles, lightly damp with the sweat of his exertion. He paced to the stove and gave the soup a stir before tasting it and he nodded to himself, noting to give it some more time for the flavours to develop. 

His wandering gaze gravitated to what Timur was painting and he peered over his shoulder to see what he was working on. A scenic piece of the nearby village in watercolour, capturing the patchy roof of the old church and its rundown exterior. Maxim continued to watch as he unbuttoned his shirt, then he discarded it to the basket of laundry only to realise he ought to wash the clothes soon. 

The following day they found themselves by the narrow river to wash and bathe themselves. Maxim had woken up earlier and went down to the riverbank where he scrubbed his body of any oils left from the previous night, a byproduct of their love requiring a little more than just passion and spit. By the time Timur sauntered down to the stream, Maxim was drying himself off.

“The water is nice,” he murmured, greeting his lover with a quick kiss to the cheek before getting dressed. Timur stepped out of his shoes and began to take his suspenders off then undoing the buttons of his shirt to reveal the red marks dotted across the soft skin of his chest. “Reminds me of a bath.” 

Though the last time Maxim had a proper bath with hot water had been long ago. He was far more accustomed to a cold dip and when the summer allowed it, a slightly tepid soak. Timur gave a quiet hiss when he stepped one foot in and his expression contorted with discomfort, finding that the temperature of the running water was nothing close to pleasant whatsoever.

“Your memory must be poor,” Timur joked. He squatted down and began to clean himself, cupping his hands together to scoop the cool water onto his skin, over his shoulders and down his chest. He reached a hand between his legs, expression relaxed with slight concentration as he worked away all the residual oils left on his body. 

To give him some privacy, Maxim averted his gaze and focused on the laundry. The homemade soap usually worked better in hot water, though given the amount of clothes he had to wash, it wasn’t practical to do any of the washing at home. He massaged and worked the mud out of Timur’s trousers, remembering how they went on a walk after some light rainfall and the earth of the forest had become soft, slippery. 

There was a noticeable difference in quality between their clothes. For one, Timur’s shirts were much softer, albeit thinner and not as warm. The linen was carefully woven, each button securely fastened in place, tailored to fit him well and he had gotten his money’s worth for however much he paid for, seeing as it was visibly worn in by a fair amount. When it came to any expendable money, he wasn’t the kind of person to buy himself clothes with it and it was likely a purchase to make him more presentable, to make a better impression in the social circles he found himself in.

Hair dripping, Timur stepped back onto the grass bank and began to dry off. He rubbed the coarse towel over his body, eyes closed and his face serene as the morning sun rested across the breadth of his back like a soothing hug. There was a radiance about him and Maxim had not noticed he was staring at him once again, caught up by the sight of all his muscles, the hairs of his chest and the trail from his navel to his groin. This was not a look of lust, but a pure and honest admiration for the younger man’s masculinity.

Partially dressed with his shirt half buttoned, Timur settled down nearby Maxim and lit a cigarette. He watched the sinews in Maxim’s arms flex with every time he wrung out the wet shirts, veins bulging from exhaustion and the pads of his fingers were wrinkly from the moisture. The injuries on his right arm healed well. Pink scars were raised, but the flesh was soft and supple. He had no issue with using his hand again though having lost some of his former strength. To reward him for his efforts, Timur leaned forwards and offered the cigarette to his lips.

“It’s a good day, we should go out later,” he suggested, smiling at how the tobacco seemed to revitalise Maxim’s spirits. “That spot you took me the other day, down by the coast.”

Considering it, Maxim gave an affirmative grunt and poured his pail of dirty water into the river. He squeezed and wrung out the water in the laundry before gathering them in the bucket. They made the brief walk back to the cabin and he hung the clothes up to dry while Timur paced aimlessly, deep in thought. It wasn’t to say he spent most of his time pondering and doing very little. He did give Maxim a hand with many of his daily chores which eased the workload. 

With everything sorted, they rode out before the afternoon at a lively pace. Not too fast, not too slow, just enough to admire the nature and vast stretches of countryside around them. Here the air was fresh, almost invigorating unlike the city smog that often left Timur feeling awful. His studio was a small, dreadful space next to a factory where the work started early and continued into the night.

Art was a complicated subject for Timur, almost like a second lover who never reciprocated and led him on a lifelong journey of searching and chasing for _el dorado._ Oftentimes he did not know what his calling was, though he knew that he had been given an opportunity to pursue it and it would be tragic if he had not taken it. A life spent working in a factory, knowing where his true passions laid, it would break his heart if that were his reality. 

When he was given the chance to leave Vladivostok for greater cities and the rest of the Empire, Timur had no other choice. It wasn’t an easy path. He starved, fought, begged. And somehow the sequence of events led him to meeting Maxim Basuda, sparking this intense, secretive relationship with him. Since then, Timur had desired no other person and his heart burned so fiercely for Maxim. And despite loving him with all his heart, Timur still made the decision to leave. In ways, it felt imperative if he desired to grow. That wasn’t to say he couldn’t return, he tried his best to visit Maxim where possible. The pilgrimages back to this cabin, even if it was just for a week, Timur could never find it within him to abandon Maxim.

Being out here with him was a different kind of happiness, not the satisfaction one could get from creation or learning. It was the joy from simply existing, existing in the right place and at the right time. A perfect convergence of their paths once again and an alignment that was rare to come by but wonderfully ethereal to rediscover. It wasn’t like falling in love again, more so that Timur was reminded of what they felt for one another.

He loved the act of being able to wrap his arms around his waist, nuzzling his face into Maxim’s shoulder and feeling the soft linen of his shirt against his cheek. Sweat damped the lower back of their shirts and by the end of the ride, their faces were gently kissed by the sun. They disembarked by the beach and stretched their cramped muscles, shivering at the harsh coastal breeze that brushed by. 

By the sea, everything was much colder, though nothing they weren’t used to by now. While Timur settled down and worked on a sketch, Maxim busied himself with a short stroll around the area. He wouldn’t be doing anything else wildly different if Timur hadn’t been here. Maybe doing light repairs on the cabin roof to repair any leaks or riding into town to see if there was any work so he could earn some money to buy more tobacco. 

He pulled at the strands of long grass and plucked leaves from shrubs in a juvenile boredom, occasionally picking up a flat rock from his path to put in his pocket. On his way back to Timur, he noticed the new flowers growing further into the land, speckles of colour in the distance amongst the sea of green. Since they would be here for quite some time, Maxim did not worry about taking too long to come back. He went to pick some flowers and searched for the best specimen, ones with all petals intact and unblemished. The more he looked, he eventually came upon some berry bushes.

After studying the leaves and determining if it was safe to consume, he tasted one and found that they weren’t ripe enough. It would have made for a pleasant surprise, Timur did love his fruits. Keeping the location at the back of his mind, Maxim returned to his path with his flowers, their stems clenched in his hand and his other hand delicately cradling the smaller and more fragile ones. 

The silhouette of Timur sitting by the windy coast was stark with his shirt billowing in the wind, clear from where Maxim could see as he trudged his way back. The winter had been long gone, but the coastline of Arkhangelsk remained chilly as ever no matter how intense the sunlight was. The air was crisp in their noses, tinged with the scent of salt and dying seaweed.

“I found these for you,” Maxim spoke up when he neared and kneeled close by Timur’s side to show him what he gathered. Pausing from his drawing, a small smile bloomed on Timur’s face. He studied the flowers and brought them closer to smell, flustered under Maxim’s eager gaze attempting to gauge his satisfaction. 

“When did you get this sweet?” Timur joked in a soft tone and held still as Maxim tucked one of the smaller flowers behind his ear, adorning him with it. “Do I look good?”

In response to the question, Maxim simply kissed him and they smiled against one another, faces nuzzled and warm with the biting wind prickling their cheeks. “You always do,” he answered, a hand cupping his jaw and admiring the way he looked. They had known one another for over a decade now and Maxim noted how Timur had matured, his youth still glowing, though he had grown into his masculine features well. 

Distracted in the moment, Timur returned the gesture and brushed back Maxim’s hair which had been trimmed down nicely and brushed into a neat style. Grey hairs glinted under the sun, strands as thick and tough as fine, metal wire. There had always been a weathered quality to Maxim, but that was part of his charm. A gristly man prone to pessimism, thin lips constantly twisted into a frown and faint wrinkles had formed at the corners of his eyes and between his brows where his expression fell into a moody scorn. Though Timur knew him to be a tender lover through all his crudeness. Someone whose heart was brimming with affections, powerful and overwhelming emotions towards only one man and his name was Timur Glazkov. 

To burn some time, Maxim skipped rocks by the shore and paced along the line of light sand where the waves could not reach. Though he found that it only occupied his attention for so long and being left alone with his thoughts gave him only a sense of unease. He returned to Timur and laid himself down on the grass, eventually falling asleep with the back of his hand shielding his eyes from the light.

Timur managed to finish the work he set out to do today after some time. He studied the sight of Maxim’s body stretched out on the grass and in reflex, he flicked to a new page in his sketchbook and captured the precise pose. The wrinkles of his shirt, pulled loose from where it had been tucked in, a trouser leg exposing his sock. 

They returned home before the sun could set, though the temperature had dropped enough that the act of holding onto Maxim was necessary for the warmth and not just security from falling off the horse.

The fact that the day had not been productive by Maxim’s standards did not concern him like it normally did. There was meat leftover from the other night, the potatoes were coming in well. Most of his worries tended to ease when Timur was around, or rather, replaced by different anxieties.

He watched by the bed as Timur packed his case, slotting in all the tools and various painting mediums he used along with the pieces he worked on during his stay here. It was amusing to see him naked and performing mundane tasks, crouched by the suitcase and intricately arranging where would be most optimal to stuff in his clothes so all the little glass bottles would be sufficiently cushioned. 

“What time is the train?” Maxim asked, though he knew.

“Noon as usual,” Timur answered and he stood up, granting him full view of his body. The candlelight cast shadows and defined the contours of his lean muscles. It was impossible to look away. He approached the bed and in the closer proximity, Maxim made out the goosebumps on his skin where the draught slipping in from the shutters caressed him. He was cold where he pressed up against Maxim, yearning for his heat.

The oils from earlier lingered on their bodies where they missed while cleaning up. Maxim ignored the odd sensation when Timur’s inner thigh brushed against him. “Are you coming back?” He then asked and received a look for asking such an asinine question. 

“Always.” Timur’s tone no longer held a casual air to it. He spoke with sincerity, perhaps offended at the idea that Maxim could think he would never return. Tomorrow he would depart for Saint Petersburg at twelve o’clock with his heart shattered into a dozen fragments, but in the distant future he would return on an afternoon and they would be intoxicated on the sheer joy of having one another again. It was a cycle, a neverending one. “Please don’t look at me like that. It makes me miserable.”

There was already a deep ache in Maxim’s chest. He couldn’t muster the strength to brighten his expression and the light kisses against his cheek and at the corner of his mouth only did so much. “I miss you all the time,” he admitted and his lips had only trembled for the slightest moment before he managed to force a smile. “Let me be the dramatic one for a change.”

It hurt Timur to see him this way and the more he realised that he could not remedy this by providing affections in the current moment, a familiar guilt returned to him and sat heavy in his stomach. There was no doubt that the separation rendered him into an almost irrecoverable state of misery, but knowing it affected Maxim just as much was nearly too much to bear. They fell into silence, into a still and firm embrace.

“It won’t be long.” A promise, but the same line he said every time and Maxim was growing impatient at hearing it. However, he did not want to spark an argument and nodded, forcing himself to accept the statement as much as he hated it. “I think of you everyday when I’m gone. Don’t think that I don’t. You’re _always_ in my heart, Maxim.”


	3. Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A passionate summer ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features explicit content (sex!) and that is all you need to be warned of. Everything has been tagged appropriately as far as I know.

It was sweltering hot, warm enough for Maxim to forgo wearing a shirt. The tanned skin of his shoulders prickled and the back of his neck stung from the slightest of contact, even from the wind passing by. Although that didn’t matter. His spirits were high and he did not let minor inconveniences bother him.

The chickens were content in their pen, picking at the ground occasionally. He managed to fix up the fencing in his spare time and so far he hadn’t lost any of his livestock to foxes. They ate the eggs in the mornings alongside a slice of dark rye bread, some homemade jam spread on it. For Maxim, a meal like that was a meal for a king. He rarely spent his money on luxuries outside of alcohol or tobacco, preferring to get his food by living off the land and thus his diet was as plain as can be, though Timur had insisted he indulge himself a little more for once.

The sharpened axe split the logs without much effort needed aside from momentum. The firewood would last them for a good while and Maxim wiped his brow after stacking the wood by the cabin. His arms were weary and sore from all the labour. There was a degree of relief in the realisation that his days had been free of any major worries, but at the back of his mind he wondered how long this would last. 

Timur brought him some water and wiped away his sweat with a handkerchief, noting how he must be exhausted after working all morning. In response to that comment, Maxim asked him what he had gotten done as well. Several sketches of Maxim while he was working outside, many of which appreciated the beauty of his form. 

They settled down for a quick smoke before realising the rest of the day awaited them and naturally they saw it fit to use this time for some exploration. This time around, Maxim let Timur take the reins and they set off on a familiar route. He had both hands clasped around Timur. They rode slow enough that he had no fear of falling off, but he found great enjoyment in the simple act of holding him.

For Timur, being able to ride a horse again reminded him of simpler times. In the city, there was very little reminiscent of this aspect of his life and while he made the conscious decision to return there, he still found immense comfort in nature. The soft buzz of insects amongst the vegetation and the _smells_ of the countryside never failed to make him feel at peace. Out here, even the water tasted better. The rainfall did not fill him with dread but invited him to step into the wet mud and feel the coolness against his skin.

A light shower amplified the humidity and left them slightly clammy. Hair stuck to their temples and sweat gathered in the creases of their palms. They halted by the mouth of a river which gave way to a lake. With the horse tied close by, they took their shoes off and dipped their ankles into the water, soothed by the coldness and satisfied once they washed their faces. To their luck, the insects seemed to be absent today and they weren’t at any risk of being bitten until they could barely sleep at night from all the itching.

Timur unbuttoned his suspenders and promptly took his clothes off, leaving them in a pile on the dry grass. “C’mon,” he urged with a smile on his face and he stepped into the water. There was a gracefulness in how he dipped under the surface, his pale body in stark contrast against the dark depths beneath them.

Aware of how hot it was, Maxim didn’t need to contemplate over the invitation to take a splash. There was a primitive freedom in being completely naked in the wilderness, a kind of thrill that he enjoyed way too much. The aquatic flora grasped and caressed the skin of his ankles, any nearby fish fled at the sudden arrival of two greater, stronger beings invading the peace of the waters. 

They swam until their bodies were exhausted of energy, muscles straining slightly with every push and pull as if the lake had become viscous within a blink of an eye. Resting at the edge where their clothes laid in piles, Maxim watched and smiled at the sight of Timur floating belly-up on the surface. His eyes were closed and he wore a peaceful expression, absorbed in the incredible sensation where the sun prickled his skin and the coolness of the water alleviated the sting. He would be sensitive later, even the gentlest of kisses would hurt, but it was a pain he welcomed. 

Seeing him approach made Maxim’s heart flutter in his chest, anticipation tingling in the tips of his fingers. Timur surfaced before him, hands holding onto his waist as his feet tried to find traction on the smooth rocks covered in thick algae. His wet hair dripped and Maxim brushed it away from his forehead, giving him a broad smile as their bodies pressed together.

“Smoke?” Timur didn’t need an answer, he reached over for his trousers and found his small case of cigarettes. He lit two with a match, one for himself and the other for Maxim. It was a careful balancing act, but Timur returned to floating on his back and he kept himself anchored still with his legs wrapped around Maxim’s torso. The older man rested a hand against his thigh, barely as a gesture of support but simply because he wanted to touch him.

The nicotine gave them a mild alertness after being subdued by the mellow afternoon. With the cigarette sandwiched at the corner of his lip, Maxim allowed both his hands to run along Timur’s thighs, appreciating them as he always did. Though the more he observed and admired, he found his eyes fixated between Timur’s legs where he kept his pubic hair short and neat. A salacious thought crossed Maxim’s mind and he ran his palms along the soft inners of his thighs, veering dangerously close before retracting his hands in an innocent manner.

Timur did not think much of the contact. He kept his gaze focused on the clouds drifting ahead, occasionally bringing a careful hand to take a drag of his cigarette, cautious as not to disturb his buoyancy. He sighed and watched a passing breeze take away the harsh odour of smoke. The hands cupping the underside of his thighs shifted further up before one slipped to brush against the cleft of his ass and that was when he lost his balance. He dropped his cigarette into the water, losing it to the depths but his hands found their way to grab Maxim for leverage.

Their faces bumped and they paused. Timur took a moment to register the mischief on Maxim’s expression before their lips met in a sudden yet deep kiss with Maxim grinning against him, amused by his squeamishness. Hands fell naturally into the places they belonged, caressing and giving light squeezes to where flesh was firm and full of vigour. 

Shifting around, Maxim coaxed Timur to lay back against the incline where the lake bed transitioned from sediment to earth. The sun wicked away the wetness of his upper body and Maxim felt the light warmth as he pressed his lips along Timur’s collarbones. His skin tasted of salt, yet there was an aspect about him that was wonderfully sweet. His breath hitched when Maxim pressed a kiss against his hip bone, hoisting him up to elevate his body some more and so he could rest his thighs against his strong shoulders.

Elbows digging into the mud, Timur held steady and found his excitement growing the further those lips trailed closer to his cock. He glanced around to make sure no one was around, but the sensation of Maxim’s wet tongue lapping at his shaft had erased any thoughts concerning their privacy. Timur drew a sharp breath through parted lips and watched as Maxim sucked gently at the tip, teasing at the foreskin before taking him in some more until Timur gave a shuddering moan and his toes curled. 

The cold water did cause some shrinkage earlier, though this was no longer an issue. The light cramping in Timur’s arms forced him to lie down again and he closed his eyes, focused on the way Maxim was pleasuring him. The hotness of his mouth contrasted with the lake sloshing between their bodies, the slight stickiness of the mud congealing under his back. There was an unpleasantness and crudeness of their environment, though served only to add to their arousal. 

When Timur sensed he was close, he nudged Maxim to ease off and pulled him into a kiss once again, desperate to feel the weight of his body pressing him into the earth as if they were to be completely and utterly reunited with the nature surrounding them. Their lips tasted of the fine tobacco and Timur grew addicted to the way his head spun from the heat and his own breathlessness. The invasiveness of Maxim’s tongue in his mouth, how he only shared this intimacy with him alone.

He squeezed Maxim’s erection and gave it several firm strokes, engrossed by its girth and hardness. Upon realising that it would not be practical to engage any further with them partially submerged in the water, they scooted a few feet onto the dry grass and Maxim reached for his trousers where he retrieved the small vial of oil.

“Did you plan this?” Timur questioned with a smile and parted his legs to accommodate for Maxim settling between them. 

“Figured you were in the mood since the day has been so nice,” responded Maxim as he lubricated his fingers before spreading some oil over Timur’s hole, making sure everything was slick enough. He pushed in his middle finger to the second knuckle. He watched Timur’s expression to gauge any discomfort, offering a gentle kiss to soothe him as he adjusted to the slight stretch of a finger. With a little more oil, Timur found pleasure in the sensation of fullness alongside the pressure of Maxim’s fingers pressing against his prostate, rubbing and drawing out all kinds of breathy moans. 

They took their time. There was plenty of sunlight left to burn and Maxim was sure no one else frequented this spot as idyllic as it was. He ran his palms along Timur’s sides as he pushed in, hoping to dispel the strain and tension in his rigid muscles.

“Relax,” Maxim murmured and he spread some oil over Timur’s cock, though he found that the younger man’s pre-cum was enough to slick himself up. 

“I am,” Timur said with a hint of retort in his tone, his lips curving into a bashful smile and Maxim could tell there was a nervousness to him, an emotion that was unneeded yet present. He was tight and hot, the occasional contraction making Maxim dig his nails a little bit into the flesh of Timur’s hip. A light breeze passed by, but their bodies remained closely intertwined, arms in a complex entanglement to embrace one another. 

In this close proximity, Maxim could make out the dark speckles of blue in Timur’s irises, every slight twitch of his brows furrowing together and how his breath would come out in soft gasps as Maxim pushed in some more. Despite the slow pace, every deep thrust had Timur almost overwhelmed. He gripped the grass in his fists to anchor himself down but quickly found there was no use in trying. Holding onto Maxim, Timur lost himself into the crook of his neck, closing his eyes tight as he braced for the impact of their skin slapping. 

The earth beneath them softened as water ran off their bodies. Maxim’s knee slipped where it had been planted and their heads bumped hard enough to hurt. They exchanged hurried whispers of “Are you okay?” And hands sprung up to cup each other’s faces before they broke into breathy chuckles, laughing at their sudden concern when the light ache of their foreheads began to disappear. 

Any unease gave way to a relaxed playfulness. They took it slow and enjoyed their surroundings despite the sticky mud beginning to dry. Timur let out a contented sigh and grinned up at Maxim, legs resting on his shoulders. He loved the sensualness of this, watching Maxim press a kiss onto the side of his knees before he began to thrust nice and languidly again.

Maxim found great satisfaction in being able to hear his moans, feel him clench down in the moments when they stilled to stop their muscles from cramping up. It had emphasised how much he’d missed everything about Timur. In many ways they were dependent on physical contact and letters spilling out their deepest yearnings could only shoulder so much emotional burden, but it did very little about the immense desire for touch even if the contents of the letter were driven by lust.

He had no doubts that Timur was genuine and faithful about their devotion to one another. In those long letters he often wrote about how the models he painted were beautiful yet nothing close to Maxim, nothing close to what Timur had an appetite for. The evenings he spent imagining and remembering their passionate nights for a brief moment of euphoria that would be quickly drowned out by a sudden urge to take the next train from St Petersburg to Arkhangelsk, or from whichever corner of the Earth he was exploring. 

Their reunions were always met with a frantic and desperate need to hold one another again, the long torture of the journey home where at most they could rest a palm on each other’s thigh and enjoy the conversation. This time around, it was just about the same. Making love in the evenings, falling asleep in each others’ arms, touching at any possible chance. It was always like this.

Timur grasped to pull Maxim closer, to feel every inch of him as he rocked his hips against the younger man. Choking on a groan, Timur continued to touch himself and as he neared an orgasm, all he could do was whisper under his breath for Maxim to keep going. He came with a deep moan and his legs had wrapped tighter around Maxim to keep him still. His ejaculation spilled upon his abdomen in thick, white streaks and ran along the contours of his muscles as they contracted with every strong wave of pleasure coursing through his body at the height of his climax. 

A different kind of tenderness overcame Timur. He kissed Maxim’s temples and cradled his angular face, moulding palms around the boniness of his jawline and tracing the pads of his fingers over the features he could never forget. The scar cutting through his thin lips, every single stray hair that deviated from the formation of his strong brows. 

Timur wanted nothing more than to give his entire self to Maxim, to be completely ravaged whole, taken apart only for the older man to piece him back together again in the aftermath. Though this was not to be misconstrued with the thought that Maxim was violent in any ways towards him, but he was rather the opposite. Timur knew of his capabilities and trusted him without second thought.

For Maxim it had never felt like an act of consumption and his feelings towards this were often abstract and incomprehensible to himself. He only busied himself with the bliss of being able to love Timur again. It was how it came to be nowadays with how seldom they found themselves together. The urge to do anything erotic was a rare luxury, if not a blessing. And for this to be with another man, with Timur, Maxim never took it for granted.

The heat of Timur’s body was addicting and his muscles were firm where Maxim squeezed them, gripping onto him harder to hold him still from the impact of every thrust. The oil between them did not provide absolute lubrication but left a degree of friction that they had grown used to by now. Timur’s exhales came in soft groans, punctuating the ebb and flow of their kiss. 

A sudden quietness overcame them. Maxim had buried his face into Timur’s neck when he reached his orgasm, fingernails digging into flesh hard enough to leave crescents. The skin of his back was dry and sore from the sun beating down, but regardless he laid himself on the flattened grass to regain his energy.

In the peacefulness of their silence, the sunlight burned red through their eyelids and when it became overbearing, Maxim sat up and took in the world around them. The vegetation swayed with every passing breeze, the lake before them shimmered. He turned his gaze to Timur’s body stretched out. Pale, sculpted, perfect. Since the winter, he had managed to eat better and his figure grew stronger, biceps and thighs thickening with heavy muscle.

He had a forearm covering his eyes, unsuspecting as Maxim moved closer and leaned down, licked the congealing ejaculation from his belly with the broad of his pink tongue. An intimate way of cleaning one’s lover and with not a hint of hesitation in his actions. The taste had never appealed to him much. It was the thought and perhaps the grossness of it that appealed to him. Nothing was ever too unpleasant for Maxim when it regarded Timur. If it came to it, Maxim would lick his wounds clean, he would kiss away his tears just as he was not embarrassed by this very act of tasting him.

The sensation of a wet tongue against his belly had woken Timur from his stupor. He craned his head up to look at Maxim. The longer they rested, they grew disgusted at the sweat and dirt on their bodies. Maxim picked him up and carried him back into the lake where they bathed one another, hands skirting over sensitive sunburn and massaging off all the oils. 

They did not become squeamish at invasive touch but found this contact to be nothing more than familiarity with one another. Timur ran his palms over Maxim’s lean glutes and appreciated his lithe build. He often liked to joke that Maxim was just sinews and bones, but there was definitely an appeal in his body built through the hardship of nature.

Timur was first to swim towards the grass again. He put on his clothes as he dried off and had it not been for his damp hair, he would have looked as if nothing had happened between them at all. He left a couple buttons of his shirt undone and red marks peeked out from where Maxim had planted them along his collarbones. 

“C’mon, I’m hungry,” Timur spoke with a small smile on his face, eyes eager as he watched Maxim get dressed. There was no embarrassment between them in being stared at and Maxim even enjoyed it. He liked knowing Timur appreciated the way he looked. “You must be too, no?”

Maxim hadn’t noticed the slight coiling of his stomach until the question and he responded with a quiet grunt in agreement, his thin lips curving into a grin as well. He ran his fingers through his hair and flicked off the residual water, feeling rather rejuvenated. 

Considerable time had passed since they left the cabin hours ago. They saddled up on the old mare and he held the soft leather reins in his hands, protected by the warmth of Timur’s embrace around him as the dusk began to approach. The air was cooler now and the silhouette of trees around them became dark shapes, stark against the bright vermillion of the late afternoon. They rode back home into the dense forest and the sky peeked through the canopy like glowing embers.

Maxim often overlooked the beauty of the wilderness, especially in the colder periods when life was dormant and hiding. Though when it came to having Timur around to radiate his deep appreciation for all things that could be possibly perceived, he took a moment to become absurdly aware of the world he had become jaded to. And suddenly nature was no longer just his environment, but a living, breathing entity that enchanted Maxim as if it were a divine being. 

The ride home was slow. He wanted to take the moment to remember this breathtaking inferno of colours and he did so with Timur’s soft lips pressing a kiss onto the smooth skin behind his ear.


	4. Autumn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The same tensions return and Maxim reaches his breaking point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter! Thank you all for following the story, I really appreciate the support. Writing AUs are quite new to me and the interest you guys have expressed has been extremely heartwarming. I hope you guys enjoy <3

For Timur, there was little to do when the summer began to recede and give way to autumn. It rained often, the daylight was sparse, watching life shed from the forest seemed to have an effect on his psyche. Though Maxim found himself too busy. Salting meats to store, pickling various vegetables, fermenting his own alcohol in hopes it would be ready in time to help him shoulder through the heart of the tough winter. 

He woke up before dawn, slipped on his heavy boots and some mornings he did not bother with breakfast. Timur woke up alone with the blankets tucked around him. Maxim’s pillow was still moulded to the shape of his head, but the man was gone and only God knew where. Something had changed about his demeanour and it stirred trouble in Timur’s heart, left him thinking too much. 

In the early hours when he would catch Maxim trying to slip out of bed unnoticed, he got up as well. He fixed them some buckwheat porridge and ate quickly, matching Maxim’s pace with no indication that he was weary at being awake at these times. Though there was never an invitation to tag along, no offer to go hunting together. Timur had to declare he was going to accompany him and in response, Maxim did not object nor did he give an enthusiastic beckon to get going like he would have during the summer. 

They did not speak much, unable to find the words to overcome the sudden distance between them. Timur didn’t address this issue for a while, but the notion that he was being rejected left him confused as to why he was still here, then he considered if this was intentional at all. Did Maxim want him to leave? The beginning of Timur’s trip was met with mellow joy and this sudden shift had only become apparent in his final week before he would leave again, this time for Moscow.

Something was terribly wrong and Timur knew it. It would be foolish if he were to pretend everything was okay. He mulled over it for a few days, tried to give him some space by letting him go out alone. In ways it bugged Timur to be sitting at home, doing nothing much at all to help with the preparation for winter. He tried to spark his creativity and worked on some projects, but there was no way to shake the thought that his energy could be used more productively by helping with splitting the logs for firewood or accompanying Maxim on a hunting trip.

In the late evenings, Timur tried to soothe the worry on Maxim’s expression through affections. The older man reciprocated and found himself placated by the warmth of Timur’s embrace, yet he still did not speak much and never on the matter that was truly bothering him. 

Tonight he didn’t return until it was dark. By then Timur had made sure dinner would be ready and he prepared a soup from the leftover beetroots. A powerful gust invaded the warm space of the cabin and Maxim stomped the snow off his boots before coming in. He let out a sigh and took his hat off, brushed the snow from his thick stubble before undressing some of his layers and hanging them to dry.

The tiredness on his face eased as he took a seat by the table where a bowl of hot soup awaited him. He gave a murmur of gratitude and leaned to meet Timur’s lips, a quick peck against his cold cheek. They sat down together and ate without speaking for a long while. Unable to bear it any longer, Timur asked where he had been all day. With the silence shattered between them, Maxim did not respond right away as if he had lost his voice all the sudden.

“Alexsandr needed me to give him a hand with fixing the paddock fencing. Ended up staying for a while, catching up with him. He has some beautiful horses.” Maxim’s voice was gruff from the cold air. The skin over his nose was reddened from the biting gusts, he gave a quiet sniffle before turning his spoon in his hand several times. “I should’ve brought you with me, you seem like you’re getting bored here.” 

An aching pause lingered between them where Timur did not know what to say. He was surprised by the statement, seeing as Maxim had been doing nothing but skirting around the issue for days now, seeming to be purposely avoiding him too. “Me? Bored?” He mused and gave a soft chuckle. “I’m not bored, I just… don’t know what to do. You’re busy all the time and I feel like I’m getting in your way.” 

“It’s getting colder, Timur.” 

There was a harshness in Maxim’s voice that cut right into him like lashings from hailstones and Timur blinked back at him, feeling as though he was being scolded for no particular reason by the obvious statement. Perhaps he had grown too used to Maxim being gentle towards him that any frank treatment felt like punishment. 

And Maxim was aware of this too- of the tone of his voice and that he was losing his patience over nothing. There was little reason to, Timur wasn’t trying to provoke anything out of him. “I don’t know- I don’t want to make you overwork yourself. You’ll be back in the city soon, there’s no point getting yourself sick now.”

There was a bitter smile on his face at the mention of _the city_ and he went to the cupboard to retrieve two glasses and the vodka. He poured a generous serving for the both of them and Timur accepted the drink. They avoided scowling at the intense taste, finding relief in how it kept the cold away.

“Let me help sometime. Just tell me what to do,” Timur implored and forced a smile, not wanting to exacerbate their situation any more. They were treading on thin ice and he wagered tonight wasn’t the best to start an argument. That being said, he wasn’t always committed to his judgement. 

They drank some more before deciding to go to bed. Minds hazy, they kissed lazily and stripped down to their undershirts. Maxim had a hand squeezing the flesh at Timur’s hip, his desires becoming clearer as his body absorbed the copious amount of alcohol they knocked back moments prior. They lost themselves in a whirlwind of passion, bodies rocking slowly atop the creaking bed and hands imprinting themselves onto heated skin, setting aside the issues bothering them for this moment. 

In the aftermath, Maxim noted the heavy, musky scent between them and he watched as Timur cleaned up, slightly wobbly on his feet and his expression possessing a satisfied weariness. Maxim was going to miss this. The view, the way all these scents evoked that specific response in his body, the relaxed state following a good orgasm. Their eyes met for a moment too long and Timur sat down on the edge of the bed.

“Why are you angry at me?” He asked, brows furrowing upwards and the question was honest, a genuine worry. 

Maxim stared at him. “I’m not angry,” he said and gave a confused look, taking him by the wrist to pull him close. When Timur refused to accept the answer and evaded his lips, he paused and took a breath. “And you won’t believe me.”

“Because you’re lying to me,” Timur returned the same bluntness and he planted his hands on Maxim’s chest, pushing him to lie flat against the firm surface of the bed where he too laid curled up against his side with his cheek pressed against his pectoral. “I can tell you’re bothered and I know it’s because of me.”

Except Maxim didn’t _want_ to blame Timur. He had tried his best to erase the very thoughts that had been giving him all this grief but to no avail, because every instance he set eyes upon Timur he would be reminded with the fact that Timur was choosing to leave, that he didn’t _have_ to leave at all. And these ugly emotions that stirred within Maxim made him feel awfully selfish as if he were trapping a hummingbird in a cage to admire its beauty rather than to set it free. 

Where Timur belonged in the universe, whether it be in more enchanting lands or within the creaking walls of this cabin, Maxim did not know. He was only familiar with the despair of losing him every time to the extent that he’d rather never see Timur again than to have him dip in and out of his life so often- or, that was what he presumed over the past months. The three years without Timur spoke otherwise.

Unable to even think of how to respond, Maxim put an arm around him and closed his eyes. He could sense the frustration, feel the gaze fixated on his face and from the pace of Timur’s breaths, he knew he remained awake. It was almost painful with how obvious things were between them, this unhappiness that bled into every interaction. 

It wouldn’t be resolved now, so they slept for the night. A chilly draught slipped through the shutters, but the collective warmth of their bodies kept the cold at bay. 

By the time Timur woke up, he was alone again. Though for every morning he was without Maxim, the little furnace would be already lit to heat the cabin and the blanket was always securely wrapped around him, sometimes additional fabrics supplemented to keep him warm. There was some breakfast waiting for him which he heated up on the stove and ate hastily before his tea could get cold. 

To his surprise, Maxim was only lingering outside. Fresh tracks disturbed the overnight snowfall and Timur followed them to the hen coop where he was spreading some feed. The older man spared him a few glances before continuing on his morning duties, trying to pretend he wasn’t aware of how Timur was orbiting in his vicinity while he brushed his mare’s coat. 

“I’m going hunting later,” he spoke, breaking their silence. Usually he did not announce what he was going to do, preferring to keep it to himself otherwise Timur would offer to accompany him even if it was heading to town to check for mail. There was a lingering discomfort within Maxim that he had to sneak around all the time and he didn’t want to be avoidant, but this was what it had come to. “Do you want to come?” 

It was hard not to sound too excited about it, but a strange happiness had bloomed in Timur’s chest at the offer because he could hardly remember the last time Maxim _asked_ if he wanted to join. Timur cleared his throat and nodded, trying to avoid coming across as being ecstatic about something they would often do together. “Sure,” he answered, still standing where he was and Maxim continued to watch him as if he was expecting him to leave now. Taking a few steps closer, he touched his warm hand to Maxim’s cheek, noting where he was beginning to look gaunt, whether that be from overexertion or aging. “Don’t get too cold, I’ll wait for you inside.”

Though once Timur was within the confines of the cabin, he itched to do something. He wrote a few lines of poetry, filled in a page for his journal and attempted to draw but found nothing enchanting coming to mind. There was an urge to get outside, to tire his body of all energy in exchange of a reward, may that be a beautiful carcass of an animal or just the pleasure of spending time with Maxim. Timur still had a boyish sense of youth instilled within him and his wanderlust permeated throughout his time here. He could not stay cooped up in the cabin as much as he adored it. He needed to run, needed to get a bit muddy and worn from the elements.

They slugged down some warm tea before setting out to the forest. Maxim had spotted a small family of deer not far from the cabin on his trip and noted they wouldn’t even need to get there by horseback. He let Timur have the gun and they waded through the light snow to where he had been setting rabbit traps the other day. 

With hunting there was not much opportunity for conversation, not even a spare moment for Timur to be carried away by his thoughts. The stakes were higher now with the winter approaching and he did not want to lose out on a kill by talking too loud or being distracted. He followed close behind, staying low and moving in tandem with Maxim as if he knew his next actions. They came to a sharp halt. Maxim drew his binoculars and motioned for Timur to scoot closer, gesturing in the direction where he could see their prey. He passed the binoculars over and Timur peered through them. 

Target in sight, he readied the rifle and aimed. The front of his body was planted on the ground and the snow melted under the warmth through his clothes, beginning to seep into the fabric. Despite the unpleasantness, he remained steady and awaited the right millisecond to pull the trigger. The sudden crack and jolt of the rifle in his grip, followed by an eclipsing silence as any nearby wildlife fled at the commotion. 

“I’d hate to be on the wrong end of that rifle,” Maxim murmured and those thin lips curved into a small smile which he tried to hide, his expression remaining largely neutral though Timur knew this was an indication of his utmost adoration which he was too bashful to show. 

“You’ll never be. I wouldn’t be able to pull the trigger,” Timur returned the flattery and they rose to their feet, swatting off the snow from their clothes. It wasn’t the act of being able to land the shot that had given him this sense of triumph, but rather the knowledge that he pleased Maxim and gave him an ounce of relief. 

They made their way to the corpse and found it to be a clean kill. Wanting to salvage the hide, Maxim wrapped ropes around the hefty deer and made sure it was secure before they began to drag it home. For a while he had been too occupied with hoisting the weight over his shoulder that he did not notice Timur’s stare, the way he always had that eager look when he wanted to talk.

“You’ll be glad you won’t have to feed two mouths over the winter,” he joked but Maxim didn’t find the humour in it and remained stony-faced. It seemed they could not last long without thinking about their separation again. “I know you’re upset, Maxim. Don’t think I’m not.”

The body of the deer fell onto the ground with a firm thud. Maxim’s heavy breaths came in thick plumes of mist and he cast a hard look towards him. “You know, I don’t mind doing this,” he stated, shoulders heaving with every great inhale. “All this,” he said and gestured around them. “It’s harder, it’s more work, but I do it out of my own volition. If I wanted you gone, I’d tell you.” 

_I’d tell you._

He gripped the rope in his gloved hands again and strained to pick up the deer, supporting most of the weight on his shoulder and he did not see the way Timur contemplated over the response, stricken by confusion. For a while Maxim could only hear his own boots crunching in the snow, then after several passing seconds Timur followed behind by a few paces. 

They did not continue the discussion on the way home.

It was only when the night drew to a close that they realised Timur’s train was the following morning. Suddenly, looking at him became painful. Maxim sensed how unsettled he was, how badly he wanted to force the conversation and the way every opportunity passed by him as if he were reluctant to act upon his desires. They drank, smoked some tobacco, felt the urge to mention the squeaky shutters needed fixing. 

Timur opened his mouth to speak. “I can tell-”

“The train-”

At the spontaneous interruption, Maxim withdrew his gaze and yielded- no, he receded into himself once more and Timur clenched his fists under the table, tightened his jaw because this was insufferable. 

“I don’t know what you want.” Timur took the reins this time. He swallowed the lump in his throat. “You don’t _want_ me anymore, you’ve barely looked or talked to me in the past days. I come all this way and you seem like you’d rather be left alone. Is that what you want? You said you’d tell me.”

It would be asinine to dodge this by excusing it for being too busy. Even in his free time, Maxim could not bring himself to give Timur the same attention he used to. “No-” The words came out in a strangled mutter and he was beginning to suffocate on the emotions gathered at the back of his mouth. He focused his gaze on the dancing shadows from the furnace. “I just don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t know, Timur. How long will it be? Another three years? This is killing me.” 

There was a burning guilt in Timur’s chest and he continued to stare at the reflection of the cabin on the glassware. “It won’t be three years again,” he said, his voice quiet and small because he understood how much it hurt, especially so for Maxim who had very few people in his life. For the person he loved the most to leave and the only means of communication to be through letters, it wasn’t an easy feat at all. “I’m sorry.” 

“And I feel like I’m going insane when I’m alone,” Maxim continued, pushing all his might into speaking the very thoughts on his mind. He only realised that he had raised his voice after he spoke, but by then it was too late and next thing he knew, he was shouting. 

He was shouting and Timur was beginning to crumble. His voice was hoarse and rough, and Timur felt it within the marrow of his bones.

“Every time you come back I’m the happiest I’ll be in months, but when you have to go again, it destroys me! This _hurts,_ don’t you understand? You have your dreams and if that means it’s impossible for us to be together then… then just _go_ -“ 

He couldn’t muster the strength to finish his sentence, but Timur managed to piece together what he wanted to say. The tragedy that was this constant back and forth of falling into a state of vulnerability and being ripped apart time and time again, and whether this was worth the pain, they did not know. 

“I just want to be with you,” Maxim finally said, shoulders deflated and brows furrowed upwards as if to plead for Timur to never leave again. A choking noise broke through his steeled demeanour and he hid his face, looking away. “But I can’t go back to living like before. I can’t go back to the city- to the factories. I can’t be with you there. I want you with me. Here.”

Timur’s chair scraped against the floor. He reached for Maxim’s hands and knelt between his legs like an act of penitence. This time Maxim did not try to reject his touch, he could not bear to do such an act of violence towards Timur in the younger man’s state of asking for forgiveness. And Maxim would give him it undoubtedly. Another promise that either of them couldn’t break but found that they were not capable of fulfilling. 

In Timur’s case, he had to reconsider his ambitions. Over the years he had amassed a considerable amount of experiences and enriched himself with everything he possibly could. Perhaps now was the time he settled down and created for himself rather than following the instructions of his mentors. And more so, he did not want to loathe himself any longer for what he did to Maxim every time. Though he feared that there would come a time when he desired to leave and he knew how that would break Maxim’s heart. 

Timur pressed his lips over scratched knuckles and studied how the milky, white skin stretched over bones, almost translucent where blue veins protruded from the back of Maxim’s hands. His skin was not as smooth as it once was, now beginning to hold their wrinkles well. Timur anointed his hands with his tears in hopes Maxim could feel his sorrow since he refused to look at him.

Their time together was sacred but finite. His breaths ghosted over Maxim’s skin before he pressed the soft of his lips against the smooth backs of his hands once more in hopes to comfort him. After a long moment, he looked up at Maxim, meeting watery eyes.

They were holding back the tears, lips pressing together into thin lines and noses beginning to run. Timur grasped his hands tighter as if he would never let go. 

“I will stay, but not now.” The truth hurt and as much as he wanted to soothe Maxim right away, Timur knew things wouldn’t be that simple. “I can and I _will_ come back, I just need you to wait a little longer, okay?” 

Maxim nodded despite these words being no different than those written in a scrawl of messy cursive in the letters they exchanged during those years apart. He wanted to believe in what he was being told- he trusted Timur was being earnest with him. It took the first shockwave of a sob resonating through them both to give way to greater emotions. Pulling him to his feet, Maxim coaxed Timur into an embrace, arms squeezing him as if to still the way his breaths were trembling as they wept until their faces were feverish and wet. 

They remained awake for longer despite their exhaustion, not wanting to lose a single hour to sleep. Entangled in bed, their bodies radiated a sickly warmth.

Tomorrow was going to be tough. Maxim tried to brace himself for it, but he knew the outcome. They made sure to get to Arkhangelsk well before noon and they spent an hour or so waiting for the train to arrive, speaking in quiet reassurances that their journeys to their respective homes would be just fine.

The train arrived by twelve and Maxim watched him embark, waved goodbye and did not move until the smog from the engines blended with the grey sky and the speck of the train’s silhouette was a vague memory. The pedestrians rushed by his stationary horse, shoes pattering on the wet streets. In the distance, the factories clamoured with steel machinery clanging and the men shouted with gruff voices. 

Reality constricted around Maxim’s throat and he looked down at his hands gripping the reins, kept warm by the soft leather gloves Timur gave him before he left. This was all he had of him. Later on, Maxim might find more things Timur had left behind. A shirt, an unfinished portrait on a palm-sized canvas, love letters filled with all kinds of sappy confessions from the most crude thoughts to wonderfully pure and profound insights about their relationship. 

Still, there was an uncomfortable feeling in his chest and he could barely bring himself to move a muscle. A horrible nausea spread from the pit of his stomach to his torso, then engulfed his entire being in a state of dread as every memory of his struggles returned to him. Those horrible nights of turmoil, days spent trying to detach his mind from what troubled him. Maxim didn’t know how long he could keep doing this. 

For now, he had to ride home before it got dark. The daylight did not last long this autumn and the cold was encroaching faster than the prior year. Nature was unpredictable, Maxim came to learn. Some years, the summer dragged on and the heat lingered into September. There was one year where the rain never seemed to stop even on the sunniest of days. Today, the weather held on fine, but the day could be perfect to his standards and it would have no bearing on how he was feeling. 

He rode home with a heavy heart and though this was not different to how he always felt after parting ways, it was never easy. The city was long behind him by the time the sun was beginning to set. He continued onwards at a steady pace, eyes focused on the distance and he didn’t dare give a second of his attention to his thoughts in fear that they may break him. 

Had they been together, Timur would have commented on how pleasant today was. Little wind, not too chilly. He would have appreciated the bright vermillion sky and told an anecdote about the markets he visited in the East with their fruits and spices. When they were sure they were alone, they would hold hands, fingers interlocking and grasping firmly on, occasionally giving a playful squeeze. Timur would press his lips against Maxim’s cool cheek and the contact would be so warm, so lovely.

Except now, Timur was on a train, gazing out the windows with a forlorn gaze and mulling over the thought that he was confined to this space for the next few days. Maxim wanted to imagine his voice telling him to stop and wait, but he was aware of how ridiculous the thought was. He saw with his own eyes as Timur embarked the great locomotive, his handsome face returning a sad smile through the foggy glass and not once did Maxim look away.

The ache in his chest intensified and this was beginning to feel more like a terrible illness. Maxim did not want to weep again. He refused to admit to himself that he was terribly weak for one man, but that was the truth. It had not been two hours and he was already finding himself what he described as a fit of hysteria- though his hysteria was simply love and unquantifiable yearning. 

His breaths stuttered and trembled, sweat slicked his palms against the leather gloves. The muscles in his face contracted and his expression contorted with a familiar agony. The wind was cold against his damp cheeks, but so rough in his throat that he could not help but to cough and succumb to his misery harder. 

He could not make out the shape of the trees along the road for they blurred with the sky in a confusing mottle of red and black. After choking on a sob, Maxim tried to compose himself. He forced a slow inhale and wiped away his tears. And he tried to think of a day where Timur would return.

A day where they would be happier with two horses in the stable, a healthy family of hens, a new dog and the land would treat them well with bountiful harvests and rewarding hunts. Instead of arguing over having to leave again, they could gripe over whose turn it was to go to town to pick up some goods and they would resolve it by going together. The wind would be harsh, but their warm coats would keep them cosy and nothing would ever be too bad now that they were together.

It was a fantasy and Maxim knew it, but it kept him hopeful. He looked towards that day, until the next time they would be able to meet again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! So this isn't exactly the happiest ending out there, more on the ambiguous side, though it was what I had intended. Thanks for reading this story and I hope you enjoyed this AU. It was a lot of fun to dabble in, definitely a change in scenery from what I usually write. Tell me your thoughts, I'd love to hear them ❤

**Author's Note:**

> My Twitter is [@CompoundZ8](https://twitter.com/CompoundZ8)  
> My Tumblr is [erc-7](https://erc-7.tumblr.com)


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